The Inevitability of Us
by SaraJ
Summary: It was inevitable really, that they would be drawn to each other. As different as they were, she was the only one who knew what it was like to be in his place, and he for her. They were the hero's generals…"


**The Inevitability of Us**  
~ SaraJ ~  
  
  
Timeline: Missing scene from OoTP  
  
Summary: "It was inevitable really, that they would be drawn to each other. As different as they were, she was the only one who knew what it was like to be in his place, and he for her. They were the hero's generals..."  
  
Disclaimer: Naturally, I am not J.K. Rowling. I would never presume to be J.K. Rowling. I merely borrowed her characters for a moment because what she wrote was so completely awe-inspiring that I had to pay homage to it.  
  
Author's note: As always, I have to give a shout out to Nicole, who sits by her computer and gives me many pep talks. Also, though this isn't my first fic, it is my first Harry Potter fic, so please, read and review! I know it's a bit angsty, but come on, tell me you weren't moved by the angst that was the end of OotP.  
  
~~  
  
_"No-No, I don't like it. No, stop-Stop!" _  
  
Ron's eyes snapped open as he jerked awake. The images were already becoming fuzzy and detached, moving further away with each moment he lay there. But he remembered two things. He remembered the pain. He remembered the thoughts. They had branded him.  
  
_Quite literally, in fact,_ he thought sourly, as the telltale stinging in his arms registered once again in his brain. He sat up slowly, mindful of the welts crisscrossing his arms, and took in his surroundings. The hospital wing was quiet. He might have thought he was the only one here except...  
  
His head turned to the bed next to him. Hermione. Still sleeping, still as unmoving as she had been when Lupin had finally managed to free him from the brain he'd been attacked by, and had counteracted the curse that robbed him of his senses. Never, in all his life, Ron thought, would he forget the moment he came to and saw her lying a few feet away, still as death.   
  
But she was alive, and Madam Pomfrey had assured them that she would recover, she just had to come around on her own. But she'd only said this after trying repeatedly to revive Hermione, without success, and Ron caught the break in the nurses' voice as she tried to reassure them. And so even now, he couldn't seem to rid himself of the fear.   
  
Ron swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He glanced around the room cautiously, just to be sure Madam Pomfrey wasn't going to come tearing into the wing, and threw his bedcovers off. He moved slowly the few feet to Hermione's bed, lowering himself into the chair that was placed there. He didn't know why, but he felt a little better, now that he was closer to her. He lay his head down on his hand, which was resting flat on the edge of the bed, near her waist. With his other hand, he gently covered one of hers. From here he could look up at her, and as he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, his thoughts took him back to what had happened earlier that evening.   
  
_Ron looked up after a moment, his mind finally clearing enough for him to take in his surroundings properly. Ginny was sitting up near him, her hand on her head as if she'd just woken. A few feet away, Luna was trying to stand, her blonde hair appearing from behind a desk. Neville came up next to him, his nose still broken.   
  
"Are you okay, Ron?"   
  
But he couldn't answer. His eyes had fallen on Lupin or, rather, the still figure lying beside him. "Hermione," he breathed, his voice strangled by the lump in his throat. He managed to half-crawl over to the pair, ignoring the pain in his now bleeding arms. "Is she..." he couldn't finish the sentence. His mind was racing. She's not...She can't be...  
  
"She's still alive," Lupin said, looking at him sympathetically. "But..." he started, then shook his head before continuing. "We've got to get her out of here. We've got to get you all out of here."_  
  
Ron was so wrapped up in his memories that he didn't notice Hermione's eyes start to flutter, then open slowly. In fact, he didn't move at all until her heard her soft voice.   
  
"Ron?"   
  
His head lifted from her bed, and the hand covering hers tightened instinctively. She was looking at him curiously, as if she were wondering what exactly he was doing there.   
  
"You're awake," he said stupidly, and instantly regretted it.   
  
Hermione, however, chose to ignore his rather obvious remark. "What time is it?"   
  
"Uh, nighttime," he answered. Ron had no clue what time it was, nor was the answer high on his list of priorities. His mind was racing. Part of him was screaming, _she's awake, she's really going to be okay!_ While another part of him worried, _but it was so close..._  
  
Ron half expected her to scold him for his rather uninformed remarks. But she simply sighed, and it was a different sigh than she usually gave when confronted with his senselessness. This sigh was softer, more amused than offended.   
  
Hermione tried to sit up but a sharp pain in her ribs cause her to gasp and wince and she fell back onto the sheets. _Well, this won't do, I can't possible talk lying flat on my back._ She was wide-awake now, and had no intention of falling back asleep until she knew what had happened. She tried again to sit, slower this time.   
  
"Maybe you shouldn't..." Ron started to admonish, seeing her struggle but not knowing exactly what to do.   
  
She gave him a sharp glance, the one that always reminded him of Professor McGonagall. "Why don't you help me instead of just sitting there looking worried? Unless of course, you'd like me to injure myself further?"   
  
Knowing better than to argue with her when she got that tone, and naturally not wanting her to do any more damage to her injuries, he moved forward to help her sit up, propping the bed pillows up behind her so she could lean against them. When she was comfortable he sat again, this time on the edge of her bed, near her hip. He kept his head bent, staring down at his hands. She was going to ask what happened, he knew it. Ron didn't really know what to tell her. And part of him was almost afraid of what he might say once he got going.   
  
After a moment, Hermione decided that Ron wasn't about to just start talking. She looked away from him and scanned the hospital wing. They were the only one's there.   
  
"What happened to everyone?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral, but she had to admit that part of her was afraid to hear the answer.   
  
Ron looked up before speaking. Here it goes. "Madam Pomfrey let them go. Ginny just had a broken ankle and she was able to mend that pretty quickly. Same with Neville's nose. Luna was just Stunned there at the end, I think, so once she was revived there really wasn't any need for her to stay."   
  
Hermione swallowed. Ron left someone out. This time, she couldn't cover the waver in her voice. "And Harry?"   
  
Harry. This was the hard part. He hadn't seen Harry since they'd left the Department of Mysteries. The last he saw of his best friend was the fuzzy recollection of him tearing past after a Death Eater. Dumbledore had been in the hospital wing earlier, and told them that Harry was fine, but that they probably wouldn't be seeing him tonight. And after everything that had happened, and what Neville told them, Ron could see why.   
  
Ron was certain he was taking entirely too long to answer, so finally he shook his head. He spoke down to his hands.   
  
"Sirius is dead," he said simply. He knew Hermione would be able to follow what that meant.  
  
She gasped, and her fingers tightened in his. "No...No it can't be. He...He wasn't there. It was a trick..."  
  
Ron could only shake his head again feebly. He hated telling her this. He hated seeing her get so upset. He wished it HAD been a trick. "Ginny said...She said a bunch of people from the Order showed up. Sirius must have been with them. And Neville...Neville was there with Harry. He saw Sirius die, said Sirius fell right through that black veil we'd seen earlier."   
  
Hermione was still shaking her head dumbly. Tears were falling silently down her cheeks now. She seemed distraught with disbelief, and Ron found it odd that she could look so upset, yet not make a sound beyond the occasional stifled sob. He thought maybe he should do something. Hug her or...something, but he had to admit he didn't know what to do with a crying girl anymore than Harry did. If only Hermione had told Harry what he should have done with Cho, then maybe he wouldn't feel so bloody useless right now.   
  
After a long silence, Ron couldn't take it anymore. A jittery, tense feeling had settled itself in his stomach. He rose from the bed and started walking to the foot.   
  
"You know, it's not fair," she said finally and he turned to face her. She sat up in her hospital bed, and when she should have looked small and weak, instead she seemed strong and serious. Even with tear tracks staining her pale cheeks, she had grace.   
  
_She's beautiful,_ he thought and he was suddenly grateful for the darkness in the hospital wing, because he was certain his ears were turning pink. Why'd he have to go thinking things like that? Especially now, when there were things that were more important. Because she was right, it wasn't fair. Sirius had his life taken away; he spent twelve years in Azkaban, then two in hiding, only to die before ever seeing his name cleared. No, nothing about that was fair.   
  
But she was speaking again. "It shouldn't have been him." Her voice was sad and her brow was furrowed like it did when she was trying to work out a particularly difficult problem. Finally, she shook her head and sighed. "If we feel like this, I can't imagine what Harry must be going through."   
  
"And how are we supposed to feel?" he snapped, trying to sound offended that she would assume she knew what he was thinking. But his voice managed to sound more exhausted than anything else, and she had always been able to feel other people's feelings rather well.   
  
"Ron, we knew him too. We were there from the beginning. Finding out he was innocent, helping him escape. We lived in his house all summer, spent Christmas there too..." she paused, catching her breath. One hand involuntarily went to her ribs and Ron winced.   
  
_Don't think about it,_ he thought.   
  
"But even after all of that," she was saying now, "he meant so much more to Harry. What's this going to do to him?"   
  
Ron sighed; he didn't know the answer. It was just one more thing that wasn't fair. Harry had already lost both his parents, and now Sirius was gone too.   
  
"I just hope that..." Hermione started to say, but she stopped. She seemed to think the comment wasn't very important.   
  
"What?"   
  
She shook her head at first, but then seemed to reconsider and let out an exasperated breath. "Oh this year has just been so difficult. For all of us. And now after all of this Harry will probably have to go back to those awful relatives of his, and he'll be isolated all over again and I just hope...I hope he remembers that he still has us."   
  
"Of course he will," Ron responded, walking back to her bed and sitting on the edge like before. He took one of her hands in both of his, and tried not to think about how they fit perfectly. "We'll talk to him loads more, we'll send him the paper, whatever. We'll do everything we can to make sure it's not like last summer."   
  
Hermione thought for a moment. "He was so mad at us," she recollected. Ron could tell she still felt awful about it. "And why shouldn't he have been, really? Alone all that time. I mean, we had a time trying to find out what we did. But at least we had SOME information. And...and we had each other," she finished, and he thought for a moment that she sounded shy.   
  
"Yeah," he coughed. "Yeah we did." Merlin, he hoped she couldn't tell he was blushing.   
  
They fell silent once again, their hands still clasped. Both of their gazes dropped down to their intertwined fingers.   
  
The silence wasn't exactly a good thing, in Ron's opinion. His thoughts mulled over the evening, and settled on her last words, _we had each other._ Yes, they did, but for how long? A war was starting, and he couldn't pretend they weren't all in the middle of it. Sirius wouldn't be the last person they mourned. And while part of him wanted to believe that they would all make it through, he also knew he couldn't afford to think like a kid anymore.   
  
"Who's going to be next, Ron?" her voice broke through the quiet, but it was barely a whisper.  
  
He wished she hadn't said it. It made him think about her lying on the cold floor of the Department of Mysteries. "Why are you talking like this, Hermione?" he rasped.  
  
"Because we almost died tonight. Because out of the six of us, I wasn't worried about myself getting hurt. I wasn't even mainly worried about you or Harry getting hurt. But somehow, I'm not surprised that it's you and I sitting here right now."   
  
Ron hung his head; he knew what she meant. Before they headed to the Department of Mysteries, he remembered exchanging dubious glances with Harry, clearly telling his friend that the last people he would have picked to accompany them were Ginny, Neville and Luna. Yet what had happened: the worst Ginny got was a broken ankle, Neville a broken nose, and Luna had only been hit with a Stunning Spell.   
  
Meanwhile, he, Ron, had been hit with some curse that turned him into a brainless git and, somewhat ironically, had caused another's brain to later attack him. And Hermione, in a rare moment, had left herself unguarded long enough for a Death Eater to hit her with a spell that could have killed her, had it not been for the fact that said Death Eater had no voice.   
  
He thought of the welts on his arms, and he wondered just how long they would remain there, and would they be the last of his wounds. _Battle scars,_ he thought humorlessly. _We'll all have them now. Harry, me, and_...His gaze shifted to Hermione's stomach. Would the curse that hit her leave a mark on her skin?   
  
Hermione, however, was looking at the red welts Ron's arms intently. "What happened to you?" she asked softly.   
  
He shook his head, "Bit stupid, really," he said bitterly, before launching into what he could remember. When he finished, he found she was still looking at his arms thoughtfully.   
  
"Do they hurt?" she asked, her free hand was hovering just above the marks on one arm, as if she were afraid to touch him.   
  
"A bit...Not too bad," he said. "What about you," he asked, nodding his head in the direction of her abdomen. "I mean, are you..." he couldn't finish his sentence, he didn't know how to, really. _Just tell me you're okay._   
  
She must have picked up on something in his voice, or maybe it was the near desperate expression on his face. Either way, she disentangled their hands and unbuttoned the bottom button on her pajama top. Ron watched her fingers intently as she pushed aside the fabric. There on her stomach, just above and to the side of her navel was what might have passed for an ordinary bruise, except it was bright purple. It was thin, no wider than half and inch and it traveled up and across her stomach, disappearing under Hermione's top. He guessed it ended near the opposite shoulder.   
  
His hand reached out, his fingertips hovering over the mark that slashed her stomach, mimicking her movement before. He noticed his fingers shook slightly. He wanted to touch her, but couldn't. If he did, it might make this moment too real. If he didn't touch her, he could go back to sleep, pretend this was all a dream. If he didn't touch her, he wouldn't have to think about how close she came to dying.   
  
She watched his hand as it reached out, then stopped. Her eyes lifted to his face, and part of her was surprised by what she saw. His brow was furrowed, his eyes narrowed, creating a pained, almost distraught expression she'd never seen him wear before, not even when his father lay in St. Mungo's earlier that year.   
  
He looked up at her finally, and all of the sudden, he wanted to tell her everything. Everything he felt. All of his fears. But his mouth only moved wordlessly. And as their eyes locked, it was as if they both realized something very important at the same time. He was going to spend the rest of his life with Hermione. Whether that was two years, or one hundred years, it didn't matter. That was the way it was going to be, he was sure of it.   
  
And she nodded. A shy smile graced her lips, as if to say she understood. And so he smiled and nodded back. And he took her hand in his, and held it tight.   
  
It was inevitable really, that they would be drawn to each other. As different as they were, she was the only person who knew what it was like to be in his place, and he for her. They were the hero's generals, thrust into the thick of war for no other reason then this: five years ago, he'd happened into the right train compartment, and she'd been able to float a feather better than anyone else in the class. They were Harry Potter's best friends. And though Harry may well have to stand alone in the end, they would be there beside him for as long as they were able, and even then, they wouldn't leave without a fight. But it would still be Harry and them.   
  
Hermione was right--they had each other. Somehow, it had always been that way, in a sense, and that feeling had been especially poignant this past year. With Harry's erratic behavior, not to mention their new Prefect duties, they'd spent a lot more time alone this year. Most people would have guessed they'd have killed each other, and they may have agreed. But instead, the strangest thing happened: they realized, maybe for the first time, that there was more to their friendship than Harry. That they actually liked each other: even when she was calling him an insensitive wart or when he was calling her an insufferable know-it-all.   
  
And tonight, tonight they knew once and for all that they were even more than just friends. They would hold together, be there for each other over the coming months, which were sure to be hard on everyone. But both seemed to know they couldn't afford to get wrapped up in each other. Other people needed them. Harry was going to need them.   
  
Ron noticed Hermione's eyes were starting to droop, and wasn't surprised to find his own following suit. It was very late, or early, after all and they'd had a very long night. So, in a move worthy of any Gryffindor, Ron leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Hermione's forehead. His head tilted, and he leaned his forehead against hers. She brought a hand up to caress his cheek as he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Then he moved away and helped her lay back down on her hospital bed. Once she was comfortable, he moved away and climbed back into his own bed.   
  
"Goodnight, Hermione," he said softly.   
  
"Goodnight, Ron."   
  
And they both slept, finally content.   
  
  
**THE END**  



End file.
